Author: Cecilia Kennedy

If you follow the trail of woods at the Inkston County Line and see a purple and silver spot that swirls and sparkles in the afternoon sun near the oak tree, that’s where Lilibet lives. (At least, that’s what I call my little worm-like pet, who produces a thick frosting-like slime and squirts it from what appear to be her nostrils.)
When you take her home, she’ll want to eat immediately. This is what she eats at first: crumbs of cake and nibbles of tea sandwiches, but only the morsels that party guests have tasted and let drop from their mouths. So, you must throw a tea party the minute you bring your pet home. It—my Lilibet—feeds off the vibes of a good, well-mannered party. She emits a gassy sound when she’s happy, and of course, wet sparkles, much to the whim and amusement of guests.
Then, when everyone leaves, let your Lilibet—or whatever you’ll call your pet—lap up all the leftovers until she’s absolutely stuffed and has grown three times her size. Let your pet curl up next to you in bed and awaken in purple puddles. She has adopted you now.
*Must kill.*
You’ll hear this voice in your head the next day. Don’t be afraid. It’s just Lilibet, as I call her. (Your name for your pet might be different.) She’s just reminding you she’s hungry. Gather more friends and hold more parties, each one more extravagant than the next: high tea with champagne, ten-course tasting menus. Your Lilibet—or whatever you call her—will eat up every morsel, growing even larger, more mysterious—a curiosity to your guests who might be alarmed as the creature circles about their legs, slithering and oozing, using its frosting-sludge-smeared nostrils to sniff them out—everywhere. Your guests might leave, never to come back, but that’s when you’ll hear *Must kill* again.
You’ll soon run out of friends and relatives to invite to parties, but you’re so in love with your Lilibet—or whatever you’ll call her. The two of you will be connected. Your Lilibet will softly cuddle you at first and invade your thoughts of insecurity and helplessness. She’ll make you reject those thoughts and soothe you with a *Must kill.* Your Lilibet will slip into a cocoon-like chrysalis, and you’ll hear beautiful thoughts of infinite new ways to exist.
When an opening in the chrysalis appears, take it. Crawl inside with your Lilibet. Let her convince you as you pulse and sway to the rhythmic sounds that reverberate in your mind: *Must kill.*
Together, release more Lilibets into the world—send out telepathic messages, like this one. Kill the thoughts that plague the mind, the endless drudgery, the parties that have ended. The next host is near. So near. And you’ll be the guest of honor.